


Snapshots of a War

by mific



Category: due South
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Digital Art, Epistolary, Fanart, Fanfiction, Loneliness, M/M, Memories, Multi-media, Photographs, Traditional Media, World War II, mentions of Hitler and Nazis, period-appropriate epithets for Germans, reference to concentration camps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-06-29 03:04:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15720678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mific/pseuds/mific
Summary: Fraser met Vecchio and Kowalski in 1938 while attached to the 27th police precinct in Chicago as Canadian consulate liaison. He and Vecchio were friends first and when Kowalski arrived there was friction between the Rays, partly as Fraser and Kowalski were attracted, even if they didn't act on it. Eventually, Vecchio and Kowalski settled into a tetchy camaraderie.Fraser enlisted in 1940 after Canada entered the war, then Kowalski and Vecchio joined up in 1942, with most of the 27th precinct. Fraser was an intelligence operative, rallying resistance and gathering intel in Norway then the Alps with Dief, his trusty war dog. Meanwhile, Kowalski’s unit fought their way up through Italy and Vecchio went undercover, tracking Mussolini's inner circle.Fraser only had radio contact with the outside world but he and Kowalski still wrote each other and took snapshots. They saved them - talking to each other through letters and photos helped them survive the long years apart.This is from Fraser's journal – part diary, part scrapbook of letters they wrote each other – those that survived.  As well as letters and journal entries there are images – photographs and memories – documenting their experiences of the war.





	Snapshots of a War

**Author's Note:**

> Created for the due South-c6d Big Bang 2018. Watercolour and gouache artworks, digitally aged. I know the photos are more sepia than the period warrants, but I got a bit bored with too much grayscale.  
> Apologies in advance for any historical errors – I was more focused on Ray and Fraser’s stories than on the precise details of WWII.

 

Spring 1942

Hi Fraser

So this is me and Vecchio in front of the old 2-7 thanks to Frannie's new craze for taking snapshots. Not sure if you can tell but we were kind of pissed with each other. We'd been arguing again about enlisting. I want to have at it right now but Vecchio says we should wait and join up with the rest of the 2-7 next month. The Lieu's old officer commission's gonna be reanimated so he'll still be our boss, kind of. Anyway it's making me nuts that Canada's had a bone in this fight for two years now and the US of A has been ass-dragging until Pearl Harbor got bombed last year. We should of declared war on Hitler right from the start, no matter what that jerk Dewey says. Can't say I'm looking forward to being in the same unit as Dewey, although it'll be good to have a few guys from the 2-7 there. How many from the Consulate enlisted in the end? I don't see them these days, now you and Dief aren't there.

Anyway, I hope you're okay. Did they deploy you yet? I know you're getting frustrated being stuck on training duty, but I gotta say, it's easier on my nerves knowing you're safe.

All the best, Ray K  
  
(Vecchio says Hi as well. Huey sends regards and the Lieu sort of grunted, and I can see Elaine waving from over by the file room. I ain't gonna tell you what Dewey said 'cause he's an idiot. Frannie wanted to sent you a kiss but I'm sure as hell not letting her get lipstick all over this.)

 

* * *

 

Summer 1942

Dear Ray

Thank you so much for the photograph and your letter, which cheered me greatly, and thank Frannie for taking it, although I'm not sorry to have avoided her lipstick on your letter! I am indeed still stuck here at Gander airbase in Newfoundland with Diefenbaker, training airmen in survival skills should they need to bail out in alpine regions. I know it's a necessary and worthy task, but I feel that my and Diefenbaker's talents would be better employed in the actual theater of operations. I have, as you can imagine, written extensively to my superiors about the issue, and repeatedly requested a transfer. I fear I have gained a reputation as a nuisance. With luck, however, they will accede to my request and send me to Europe to get rid of me. That's the plan, anyway.

I'm glad to hear that you can enlist with Ray Vecchio and the bulk of the 27th – it will be good to imagine you among friends, even Dewey, for whom I'm feeling a measure of fondness with the advantage of time and distance.

Regarding the Consulate, I heard from Turnbull, who was most disappointed to find his flat feet preclude him from enlisting. He continues at the Consulate to which Inspector Moffatt has returned, I'm sorry to say. You never met him – he'd been replaced by the time you joined the 27th. I can only say it's better for the war effort that he and Turnbull are well out of the way. Turnbull has taken up knitting and is producing prodigious numbers of poorly-constructed socks for the troops. I received a pair myself, despite not actually being in Europe yet. He means well, however, and they are warm in the Newfoundland cold, although misshapen and lumpy. Turnbull also mentioned your favorite nurse (Margaret Thatcher or the "Ice Queen", as you call her), who I first met when Ray Vecchio shot me after ~~my unforgivable~~ my lapse of judgement, and who we have all seen quite enough of since, due to various injuries. Turnbull had been readying papers for her deployment to Europe as a nursing sister, to run a front-line hospital. I am sure her skills will be well-employed in that role, and can only hope I never require her tender ministrations.

Give everyone at the 27th, and Frannie and Ma Vecchio, my regards. The one regret I will have when they finally deploy me – and they will, it's just a matter of time – is that I won't be able to write to you as easily. I'll keep a journal if letters become impossible, and hope you will write to me as well, Ray, even if you can't always send the letters, for your words lift my spirits and I hope mine do the same for you.

Warm regards, Benton Fraser

 

* * *

 

March 1943

My dear Ray

I won't be able to mail this, as I'm in Norway working undercover with the Resistance and only have a radio to contact my superiors. It comforts me to write to you, nonetheless. I shouldn't keep anything incriminating on me of course, and I don't, when I'm on a raid or meeting a contact, but maybe I'll be able to take my journal and letters with me when I go, and save them for you.

I pray that you're well and unharmed, but I know you must be battling your way up through Italy with the other US forces and it's hard not to be worried. I lie awake sometimes, imagining you and Ray Vecchio and the rest of the 27th. I wish we could write properly. Do you hear from Frannie at all? I hope Turnbull is not still sending you his dreadful socks.  

On a lighter note, the snapshot is of my main contact here, Erik. He's the spitting image of Errol Flynn, your old heartthrob – you must have seen all his movies and dragged me along to far too many of them in our Chicago days. I called Erik "Errol" accidentally the other day, but he just shot me a quizzical look – he thinks I'm crazy anyway, what with my Inuit tales and unorthodox methods. No matter, they're effective and we're making a dent in the German supply-lines here, but I still chafe to be closer to the main theater of the war, not sidelined in the fjords. Dief is enjoying himself, though – it's good country for a wolf.

I'm trying to keep my spirits up, but it's hard sometimes not knowing how you are, or whether ~~you are still~~.  No. I won't even  _think_  that. You'll be fine, and I'm sure you look very dashing in your uniform. You'll be wowing the ladies and I know how much you love dancing so I hope you went to dance-halls in England when you could. I hope you had fun when you could – it won't be any fun now. I never learned to dance, in Inuvik. But I'd learn for you. I  _will_  learn for you, when we're reunited. I know we never … but I think you know how I feel, Ray. I hope I do not shock you; I'm getting maudlin, what with the isolation, and not knowing how you are.

I must endure. I have an important task here, and eventually I will be deployed closer to the Front, and will try to find you. I will be strong, and remember there are many far worse off than me or even you and your platoon in the thick of the fighting. We have heard terrible rumors about Nazi atrocities, especially their treatment of Jewish people in Poland and elsewhere in Europe.

Meanwhile, you are ever in my thoughts.

With all my heart, Benton Fraser

 

* * *

 

 

January 1944

Hiya Fraser

Another letter from me. As per usual, don't know if you'd ever get these and anyway I reckon they'd confiscate the photo in this one 'cause it maybe gives away where we are too much. (P.S., Italy!) So like the others, I'm gonna hang on to it as a kind of diary. Maybe you'll want to read these later – you like all that historical stuff. Hope so. Hope there'll be a later for both of us. Jeez, I'm gettin' sappy here.

So anyway, Vecchio said we had to look more cheerful in this one 'cause in the last couple of pics we were arguing, or it was Boot Camp which was no joke. Then we were in the thick of it in Sicily and no time to write. Vecchio scored some brandy in the flask and we promised some to Dewey if he'd take our photo. He thinks he's a goddamn war photographer or some shit so he didn't take much persuading.

I tried to find out where you were, even wrote the Ice Queen and jeez, that's a scary thought, her running a hospital. The letters took forever to reach her and get back to me, and in the end she said it was "classified" and she couldn't find out even though she's dating some colonel. She was kind of snippy about it. So I guess you're in the action somewhere like you wanted to be. You better be all right, Fraser, or I'll come after you myself. Don't lick any damn Nazis.

I ain't never going to send this so I guess I can say that we're in the mountains now, south of Cassino. It's all happened real fast since last July when we got to Sicily. Weird weather here – there's not usually this much snow. Not that the summers are better – Sicily was too damn hot, so only Vecchio liked it. Me, I'm from Polish stock but this is too cold, even for me. I been thinking about the Polish cavalry charging the Kraut tanks when Poland was first occupied – you ever hear about that? Made me choke up, but I reckon they'd have gotten off their horses first – even Polacks aren't that dumb. There's not much honor in this war, or if there is, it's between friends, in your own platoon. The brass are morons or bastards, from what I've seen. The Lieu does his best – I gotta call him Major these days of course – but you can see he's close to tearing his hair out, what's left of it.

Well, I gotta go get some chow. There's talk that they're gonna deploy Vecchio undercover somewhere, but he won't say what's up. Don't tell him, but I'm gonna miss the bastard. We even saved each other's life a few times.

You look after yourself, Fraser, and scratch behind Dief's ears for me.

Your friend, Ray K

 

* * *

 

June 1944

Dear Fraser

Well, we made it to Rome and boy did the bombing raids do a number on the city. That's been one of the worst things, seeing all the people made homeless, wandering about, real thin and starved-like. Most of them didn't want this war, they weren't fans of Mussolini but they're paying the price. Most of 'em are pretty glad to see us, almost like their own crappy government had occupied them as well. It's the kids get to me the most, but I only got so much chocolate and candy I can dish out.

I'm okay. I got half-deafened by the artillery and bruised by some falling rocks, but nothing too bad. We lost Gardino in the fighting around Cassino. I never liked him much, but you feel bad anyway when it's one of your own unit. Huey got winged by a sniper but he's okay and didn't need to be evicted. Dewey's fine – well, except his jokes are fucking horrible so if the Krauts don't shoot him I might have to do it myself. We're all a bit ragged around the edges and I don't think the Lieu sleeps a whole lot anymore, but that's the war for you. None of us do.

I hate not knowing where you are, or if you're okay. You better be, Frase, you and Dief. There's gotta be some good in store for us after all this shit. Sometimes I dream of you in that red uniform. Fire-engine red, they call it, but I'm not too keen on sirens and fires these days, so I call it Mountie red. Don't expect you'll be wearing it in your classified work – too  ~~consp~~  easy to spot.

Vecchio vanished a couple months back, off on his undercover mission. The Lieu knows something, but he ain't saying. Well, hopefully Vecchio'll be okay, he kind of went full-Italian on us after being back in the old country awhile, and seems like he's got relatives in every town. He'll most likely be fine. Probably.

I miss Vecchio and I miss the hell out of you. You'd think that'd have worn off by now, 'cause it's over three years now since I last saw you, but nope, it's always there with me, that empty place inside. I can't imagine you in the war. You're too good for all this, Frase, you shouldn't be bloody and dirty like me, like the rest of us. ~~I done things I don't ever want to~~  No, I ain't gonna think about that.  

Maybe I need to miss you just to keep going, that red jacket of yours like a flare pointing me to where I need to be. Now I'm getting sappy again. Dewey found a bombed-out shop with a few bottles of wine stashed away so I'm gonna go get drunk.

I'm thinking of you, Frase. Wish I was where you are now. I like to think you're somewhere in the snow where it's clean and white and there's no explosions. Wish you were real, not just a blurry memory.

Missing you, Ray

 

* * *

 

September 1944

Dear Ray

I'm at a low ebb, so I hope writing to you in my journal will help. I was finally deployed to the Alps – even in this private journal I cannot say where, as I will not put those who have aided me at risk. I am concealed in an old hunting cabin, recovering from an injury. It is not too serious, merely tedious, a broken fibula, splinted and bandaged up as best as I could manage. My leg aches abominably, though, especially in the cold of these mountains.

Injured as I am, I'm no use to anyone. Indeed, I am a burden and a risk to the villagers, but they treat me kindly and deliver food and scant news. We are well off the beaten track here, but there was a military installation in the next valley and I'd been gathering intelligence when I fell. I sent back what I had via Morse code and heard the bombers the next night. I may not be killing men hand to hand as you are, Ray, but I am culpable nonetheless.

I am not a pacifist and I truly believe in the Allied cause, but the reality of war is grim. I wonder how you are coping in the worst of the fighting, you and the 27th. ~~I wonder if you have all surv~~  But I am sure you are well, if tired and battered by the horrors of war.

I wish I could hold you.

I hesitate to write about this, but no one will ever see my scratchings, I'm sure. If they did, no doubt they would think me mad. I hope you will not think I've lost my wits if you ever read this, but the isolation weighs on me, so perhaps I have, just a little. I can't explain it, but my father is with me at times – often at the most inconvenient moments, offering unwanted commentary. Are all ghosts so irritating? He is building himself a room off the back of this cabin and I can hear the banging. It's most annoying, and he is prone to criticize my decisions and offer unlooked-for advice. Perhaps I  _am_  going mad in this lonely place with the pain of my leg, or perhaps he's a mere figment of my overactive imagination. The Inuit friends of my youth would accept it, but I am not so sure I understand why he haunts me. Sometimes I wonder if my mind would rather have tedious exchanges with a ghost than worry about you and Ray Vecchio, endangered as you are.

Diefenbaker just snorts derisively when I fret about it, and tells me to go roll in the snow. Profoundly unhelpful.  

When I'm recovered, I will make my way south, hoping to meet the Allied advance. If that succeeds, I will find you, Ray, I swear. I need to hold onto something real – someone real – and talk to someone other than a deaf wolf and a ghost.

Ever yours, Ben

 

* * *

 

 Winter, 1945

This ain't a letter, I'm writing it just for me, so I don't forget.

You'll never know how it felt to see you, Frase, turning up at our camp like a goddamn Christmas miracle. No red coat of course, but I'd still have known you anywhere. I'd calmed down by the time Dewey took this snapshot, and by then we were both calculating how to get some time alone, 'cause spending our reunion with Huey and Dewey sure wasn't appealing. But the Lieu's a good sort and he gave me a 24 hour pass and there weren't no Canadians to tell you what to do, so we found an  _albergo_ , like Vecchio used to call them, that had a room. Your Italian's almost as good as Vecchio's, I gotta say, Frase. 

I ain't gonna write about what happened in that room, but it did happen, didn't it? I mean, after two years of war and four years apart, it was like a dream, with the bed and the feather pillows and you, Frase, under the quilts, all alive and real and warm. 

You don't regret it, do you, Frase? Tell me you don't 'cause I sure as hell don't. I want to do it again, do it every day. Hell, more than once a day! It wasn't enough, couldn't be anywhere near enough. Not after so long apart. That's why I keep pinching myself, 'cause it don't seem real, now you're gone again. 

As soon as we got back the next morning the Lieu had your orders, radioed through, and off you went again, back up north. I almost couldn't let go of you that time, and I didn't care if the whole platoon knew what was going on. No one said anything after you left, not even Dewey. He just gave me a shot of grappa.

I miss you already. 

 

* * *

 

Winter, 1945

This note is just for my journal. I would not risk it to a letter, even were I able to send one.

There were no snapshots in the hotel, Ray, but I carry one in my mind. I remember the hunger and desperation, but mostly, I remember touching and holding. I remember tenderness. I'm not going to write any details, burned into memory as it is. 

I mustn't wear out the images, the sensations, the sound of your voice, mustn't use them up. 

God knows how much longer I'll need them, to survive through the months, maybe years, without you. Too long, too many months. 

Damn this interminable war. It needs to be over for so many reasons.

It needs to be over so I can hold you again. 

 

* * *

 

Summer, 1945

Hi Fraser

Still don't know how to reach you so this is another one I'll save. I'm back in England and it's VE day, as you can see. I don't know any of these people but they're having a fine old time. Sorry I'm not all happy and smiling but I'm so goddamn sick of the endless waiting, away from you. It ain't gonna end soon, either, even if we did win the war. Yeah, I'm happy about that, 'course I am, but I miss the hell outta you. Don't get me wrong, it was amazing, that night we had at the old inn with the geraniums, but it wasn't near enough. Rest of my life won't be enough, Frase.

I got demobbed a little early as I got clipped by a bullet north of Milan, just over my left ear. Got a concussion and couldn't walk straight or stop puking for a while, so they sent me back on medical leave. I heard they're bringing in a points system about who gets demobbed first, those that are lucky enough not to get sent to the Pacific. I would've gotten some points as I been here awhile, but I got no kids, and the guys with kids get to go home sooner – can't argue with that. I might have gotten a few more points for being a cop I guess, they always need cops, back home. But anyway it don't matter. I'm heading for an early discharge now 'cause of the head wound and I ain't complaining, except that you're probably still here somewhere, in Europe. Could be months before I see you again. 

You better be okay, Frase, you just goddamn better. No taking stupid risks now we won the fucking war, right? 

You won't have heard about Vecchio. He turned up in Milan with the dirt on where Mussolini's main henchmen were hiding out and a truck full of art treasures. They're not letting him keep the art of course, but he'll probably end up giving Ma Vecchio some priceless statue of a saint that happened to fall off the back of the truck.

I won't be sorry to see the back of Europe and catch up with my folks again, and Stella – she's most likely talking to me again by now. Be good to see Elaine, and Frannie and the Vecchios – Ma Vecchio's lasagna's gonna be a treat after army rations, I gotta say. I'll even go see Turnbull if he's still there at the Consulate. Need to thank him for the socks, they were weird but real warm. Hope the Lieu and the rest of the 2-7 don't have to wait too long before they get demobbed – they got millions of us soldiers here all desperate to get back to our loved ones. Ain't like that for me 'cause you're still gonna be here – I just don't know where. Tried to find out, but it's chaos and even the Canadians weren't so polite for once. Plus, I guess you're still "classified".

So, I gotta go, on the next troop ship. You know where to find me, Frase, when you make it back to Chicago. I'll be at the 2-7. 

Your Ray

 

* * *

 

 Christmas, 1945

Dear Ray

This may be my last letter to you in my journal, and probably the last photograph. Diefenbaker and I are being demobilized, after an interminable wait. I understand the logistics are impossible, demobilizing so many men and women in as short a time as possible with the public at home protesting and clamoring for more speed. It has not improved official tempers but I have tried to be patient and understanding, and gritted my teeth. I'm being sent home faster than most, due to my RCMP status. It seems peace-keepers are sorely needed, in peacetime.

At least I was able to find out that you'd been sent home, but on a medical discharge. I had to enlist the help of Sister Thatcher to find out it was a concussion, so I hope you're fully recovered by now.

With luck the voyage will go well and even a lumbering troop ship will have me back in Canada within a week. There's nothing for me in Toronto but I will once again have to tangle with bureaucracy to be re-assigned to the Chicago Consulate. Rest assured, Ray, I will succeed, and will be at your door once more, as soon as I am able. 

Until then, know that I think of you always, and long to be reunited.

Yours with love, Ben

 

* * *

 

Spring, 1946

Wish I had a photo of this moment, but this note in your war diary's gonna have to do.

 

The red jacket, Frase, fucking finally. Let me hold you, let me just hold you, all red and solid and wonderful.

Christ, Frase, we made it. We fucking made it through and I ain't never letting go of you again.

Not ever. 

 

* * *

 

Epilogue, 1947

I'm making a last entry in my old journal, tattered although it is. Ray and I are, these days, entirely boring and domestic, I fear. We go about our respective jobs, although more often than not we are partnered as we try in our small way to bring evildoers to justice, and sometimes succeed. The 27th is much as it was, although Ray Vecchio took up with Stella, Ray Kowalski's ex-wife, and they are now in Florida running a bowling alley, of all things. 

Sister Thatcher has returned to her nursing duties at the hospital here, and I gather she is likely to become matron after her wartime triumphs.  She was quite the martinet in Europe, and so terrorized her superiors that her field hospital ran like Mussolini's trains, although I gather it was not the most restful place in which to be injured. I can't say I'm sorry to have escaped that experience.

Moffatt was removed from his post at the Consulate after the end of the war, having become quite unhinged on the topic of espionage, seeing spies even in the most harmless Canadian citizens seeking assistance. I am temporarily in charge, having been promoted to Sergeant on the basis of my own wartime service. We await a new Inspector from Toronto any day now and it will be a relief to hand responsibility for Turnbull over to him. It will also free me to consider other options, which I've been discussing with Ray.

Ray and I found ourselves an apartment – simple but comfortable. Despite everything, despite the war and our memories, we are mostly happy. There are bad days – Ray finds Chicago's traffic noises especially trying as they remind him of artillery bombardments in Italy – and both of us have nights when sleep eludes us, but we comfort each other. For me, the war was not so filled with the terror and chaos of battle, as it was for Ray. I mostly remember the loneliness and cold. 

It's strange, now, to live so normal a life. Strange and wonderful. 

 

 

I'm having the last word in your diary, Frase.

You're not so normal as all that, you freak, what with smelling my neck all the time. What's with that? You're as bad as Dief! 

Anyway, if things are too boring and domestic for you, aren't we going off on that quest you were talking about, to find that guy Franklin's hand? That'll shake things up. 

I’m going to stop reading your old notebook now and go give you a proper kiss. Normal, my ass. I don't need normal, I just need you.

 

~ the end ~

 

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Long, Long Night of Waiting](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16099448) by [DesireeArmfeldtPodfic (DesireeArmfeldt)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesireeArmfeldt/pseuds/DesireeArmfeldtPodfic)




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